Campbell 
Daughter  of  the  Rogues 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


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A  Daughter  of  the 
Rogues 

A  Tale  of  the  Rogue  River  Valley 


BTo  OiPjro  o  of n  o  Oifo  QOfo  OiPjrc  oiofb  ojo^v, o  oft  010 


Copyrighted  1919 

By  RICHARD  POSEY  CAMPBELL 
ASHLAND,  OREGON 


°$&Q}W2A<° 


A  Daughter  of  the 
I^ogues 

A  Tale  of  the  Rogue  River  ValUy 


Copyrighted  1919 

By  RICHARD  POSEY  CAMPBELL 
ASHLAND,  OREGON 


PS 


DEDICATORY 


TO  THE  FEW  WHO  MAY  CHANCE  TO  READ 
THIS  SIMPLE  TALE,   IT  IS  DEDICATED. 

Should  it  give  you  a  momentary  glimpse  into 
the  wealth  of  America's  scenic  splendor,  a  taste 
for  the  great  out-of-doors,  a  loftier  ideal  of  the 
worth  of  true  friendship,  the  beauty  of  an  un 
selfish  spirit,  and  the  sacred  purity  of  a  love 
that  would  sacrifice  all  on  the  alter  of  its  de 
votion,  then  this  little  story  shall  not  have  been 
told  in  vain.  DICK  POSEY. 


762871 


Dick  Posey 

A  Dau&hfer  of  the  Rogues 

i  checked  my  jaded  horse  before  a  door 
Where  toiled  an  old  man  in  his  garden  there, 
And,  much  emboldened  by  his  courteous  smile, 
Besought  him  that  a  weary  man  might  fare 
A  day  or  so  beneath  his  friendly  roof. 
"Aye,  you  are  welcome  in  our  home,"  he  said, 
"There's  none  to  say  he  found  no  welcome  here, 
— My  wife  and  I  are  both  Virginia  bred, 
The  latch  string  ever  hangs  from  out  our  door. 
But  she  is  old  and  sick,  our  fare  is  plain, 
So,  for  your  comfort,  I  do  not  hesitate 
To  point  you  to  the  weary  trail  again, 
Which,  if  you  follow  on  for  one  brief  mile, 
Will  lead  you  to  the  'Squaw  Man'.    He,  I  know 
Can  give  you  food  and  shelter,  and  he  will, 
For  he  is  kind, — leastwise  I  find  him  so, 
Though  some  there  be  that  say  he  is  morose 
And  does  not  mingle  with  them.     Even  so, 
He  is  my  friend.    And  then,  his  squaw  is  good 
And  passing  fair  as  Indian  women  go." 


I  thanked  him  kindly,  for  I  could  but  feel 
'Twas  even  as  he  said.     My  horse  trudged  on 
And  ever  as  we  went  I  felt  the  spell 
Of  gorgeous  landscape  meeting  sky  of  June, 


Dk-k  Posey 

The   rugged   mountains,   Cascades,   Siskiyous, 

Green  garbed  in  all  the  splendor  of  the  spring, 

And,  at  their  feet  the  Valley  of  the  Rogue, 

Sweet  with  blooming  trees  and  birds  that  sing. 

And  as  I  sensed  it  all  with  quickened  breath, 

I  laughed  to  feel  the  surge  of  rich,  red  blood. 

Within  my  arteries.    No  longer  Death 

Lurked  in  my  footsteps.     The  dry,  expanded  air, 

The  breath  of  resinous  woods,  the  simple  food, 

Cooked  all  unaided  by  some  mountain  stream 

And  plucked  from  Nature's  hand  by  gun  and  rod, 

The  rugged  out  door  life, — all  these 

Had  strengthened  me  and  given  zest  to  life 

And  banished  death  to  three  score  years  and  ten. 


And  as  I  rode  thus  musing  on  the  trail, 

My  eyes  uplifted  to  a  beauteous  range 

Of  foothills  stretched  between  two  sentinels, 

— Grizzly  Peak  and  Roxy  Ann,  a  sudden,  strange 

Twist  of  fate,  such  as  does  sometimes  enter 

Into  life's  circle  and  warp  and  change  us 

Till   life  whirls  around   another  center, 

Took  shape  before  me  in  the  form  and  face 

Of  one  most  dear  to  me,  my  boyhood's  chum. 

— For  many  months  I'd  reckoned  him  as  dead, 

Yet  there  he  stood  before  me,  wild-eyed,  dumb! 

While  a  mighty  continent  lay  between 


Dick  Posey 


Old  Hudson's  banks,  where  both  were  born  and  bred, 
And   Oregon,   where  both  this  miracle  had  seen. 


"Why  Phil!"  I  gasped,  "and  what  in  heaven's  name" — 

''Old  Jack  as  I'm  a  sinner!"     Wild  surprise 

Thrilled  in  our  voices  as  with  firm  clasped  hands 

We  looked  with  glad  content  in  friendship's  eyes. 

We  talked  as  only  pals  can  talk  when  they 

Have  much  in  common,   friends  at  home, 

And  all  the  changes  wrought,  marriages,  deaths, 

Our  boyhood  pranks  and  how  I  chanced  to  come 

Away  out   here  into   this   rugged   land. 

And  ever  as  we  talked  it  seemed  that  he 

Avoided  self,  would  grasp  me  by  the  hand 

Anew  and  shake  it  with  fevered  fervor, 

Telling  me  o'er  and  o'er  how  glad  he  was 

To  find  me  there,  how  we  would  scale  those  hills 

And  whip  the  streams  far  up  the  Siskiyous 

For  trout,  the  like  of  which  I'd  never  seen. 

He  knew  the  haunts  of  elk  and  deer  and  bear; 

Where  mountain  quail  and  grouse  and  pheasants  used; 

— We'd  rest  a  spell,  then  he  would  take  me  there. 

And  thus  he  gabbled  till,  in  self  defense, 
And  spurred  on  by  a  mountain  appetite, 
I  cried,  "Desist  old  scout,  pray  lead  us  hence, 
Bold  Daniel  Boone,  pathfinder  of  the  Rogue, 


Dick  Posey 

I're  a  hunger  keen  as  a  cross-cut  saw, 

I  feel  that  I  could  ravenously  devour 

A  grouse  or  deer  or  grizzly  bear  blood  raw. 

My  venerable  Virginia  friend  back  there 

Spoke  of  a  mighty  chieftain  hereabout, 

Where  I  might  find  refreshment  and  great  ease 

Within  his  teepee,  and  I  have  no  doubt 

But  that  I  should  have  found  him  somewhere  near. 

He  lauded  this  great  squaw  man  to  the  skies, 

And  added  that  his  squaw  was  passing  fair. 

But,  ere  I  test  their  hospitality, 

I  fain  would  taste  your  salt,   O  comrade  mine, 

So,  lead  on  to  your  camp  fire  ere  I  swoon, 

We'll  talk  of  aur  adventures  as  we  dine." 


I'd  thus  railed  on  while  easing  up  the  cinch 
On  my  spent  horse,  and  noting  that  he  said 
No  word  in  answer,  I  glanced  toward  my  friend 
And  stared  aghast!     He  stood  with  bowed  head, 
Nor  could  he  speak  nor  meet  my  wondring  gaze, 
The  droop  of  shame  sagging  his  shoulders  down, 
While  o'er  his  face  the  color  came  and  went 
And  left  him  pale.     'Twas  pitiful,  I  own, 
To  see  this  idol  of  my  earlier  life, 
The  toasted  hero  of  athletic  field, 
Captain  and  leader  of  each  college  strife, 
The  polished  favorite  of  the  drawing  room, 
With  pride  of  social  rank  and  stainless  birth, 
— Thus  like  a  felon  sentenced  to  his  doom. 


Dick  Posej 


"Philip,  old  friend,"  I  grasped  his  nerveless  hand, 

"If  I  have  said  in  thoughtless  strain  one  word 

To  stamp  upon  your  brow  this  show  of  pain, 

Forget  it,  Phil,  consider  it  unheard. 

This  love  of  ours  is  far  too  great  a  thing 

To  let  some  empty  word,  but  idly  sped 

In  senseless  railery,  though  barbed  with  steel, 

Stalk  through  the  echoing  halls  of  friendship  dead, 

Nor  would  I  probe  the  secrets  of  your  past, 

I  do  but  ask  your  trusted  friendship  back." 

With  head  still  oowed,  but  in  a  firmer  tone 

He  answered  me,  "I  am  the  'Squaw  Man',  Jack." 


Small  wonder  that  he  shrank  from  decent  gaze! 
I  knew  the  breed,  treacherous  and  bestial, 
Reeking  in  filth,  their  squalid,  stinking  tents 
Swarming  with  mangy  dogs  and  insects  rile. 
But  still  I  loved  him  and  I  told  him  so. 
That  is  my  way,  when  once  I  find  a  friend 
And  take  him  to  my  bosom,  his  virtues 
Overbalance  far  his  weakness  in  the  end. 


With  scarce  unbroken  silence  he  led  me  by 
A  winding  path  to  where  his  cottage  stood. 
It  was  a  winsome  spot  and  sweet  to  see, 
With  madrone  grove  casting  its  shady  flood 


Dick  Posey 

O'er  velvet  grasses  sprinkled  thick  with  flowers, 

And,  trellised  over  door  and  window  pane, 

Were  flowering  vines  most  beautifully  arranged, 

And  scattered  round,  roses  of  every  name. 

I  caught  my  breath  in  wonder  at  the  scene, 

"Beautiful,"  I  said,  "it  takes  my  breath  away." 

He  smiled  most  gratefully,  "Well,  I  am  glad, 

For  it  is  yours  as  long  as  you  will  stay." 

He  led  me  to  a  shaded  rustic  seat, 

And,  going  to  a  spring  house  near  at  hand, 

Came   back   to   me   with   pitcher   brimming   o'er 

With  choicest  beverage  of  any  land, 

— Rich,  creamy  milk,  the  nectar  of  the  gods! 

Seating  himself  beside  me  he  began 

Unasked : 

PHILIP'S  STORY. 

I  wish  to  tell  my  story  first, 
I'll  try  to  finish  with  it  if  I  can 
Ere  she  returns — my  wife — I  mean.     She's  gone 
To  visit  some  sick  baby  and  may  come 
Within  the  half  hour,  and  it  is  not  well 
That  she  should  hear,  for,  well  Jack,  there  are  some 
Things  that  I  would  not  have  her  know,  for  she's 
Sensitive  and  I  would  not  give  her  pain 
If  I  can  help  it,  for  she  loves  we  well, 
As  she  has  proven  o'er  and  o'er  again. 


Dick  Pose 


I  think  it  is  not  needful  that  I  tell 

About  my  life  before  I  came  away, 

— My  change  of  fortune  in  one  single  stroke 

That  left  me  stranded,  and  I  need  not  say 

To  you  what  sank  me  deepest  in  despair. 

God,  how  I  loved  her,  Jack!     And  then  to  have 

Her  cast  me  from  her  life  without  one  tear, 

— Hurl  back  upon  me  all  the  love  I  gave! 

Of   course,   her   purse-proud    people   doubtlessly, 

(For   that   she   loved   me   some   I   am   convinced), 

O'er  ruled  such  passion  as  she  felt  for  me. 

But   when   in   coolei    moments   I   did   pause 

And  weigh  the  matter  calmly  in  my  mind, 

I   know   I'd   not  have  asked   of  her  to   wait 

Till   I,   without   experience,   might   find 

A  way  to  fortune.      So,  without  much  care, 

I   sold   the   few   securities   I   found 

Left  floating  in  the  wreck,  and  such  small  things 

As  I  no  longer  needed,  that  abound 

In    the    apartments    of    a    bachelor. 

I  found  'mongst  £.11  my  friends  but  very  few 
I  cared  to  bid  farewell.     Strange  how  such  things 
Can  change  one's  nature  so,  but  it  is  true. 
I  left,  not  knowing  whither  I  should  go, 
— Just  wandered   aimlessly  from   place  to  place, 
Did   such  small  jobs  as  I  could   find  to   do 
To  eke  out  the  small  pittance  in  my  purse. 
But  ever  as  I  went  I  traveled  west, 


Dick  Po.iey 

Ever  I  kept  my  face  turned  from  the  spot 

Where  I  had  suffeied  so,  and  it  seemed  best, 

For  constant  change  would  buoy  my  spirits  up. 

No  labor  was  too  menial  for  my  hands, 

— Was  just  content  to  breakfast,  dine  and  sup. 

No  use  to  weary  you  with  dull  detail 

About  my  journey  'cross  the  continent, 

You've   covered   the   same   route,   so   please   review 

Your  own   experience  and  be   content. 


One  day   I'd   ridden  far  across  a  stretch 

Of  dreary  sage  land,  shimmering  with  heat. 

My  grub  was  spent  and  I  was  parched  with  thirst 

And  near  exhausted,  for  I  could  not  eat 

Such  food  as  I  could  buy  from  Indian  hoard, 

— You've  seen  the  breed  and  know  the  reason  why. 

For  weary  hours  I'd  watched  a  line  of  trees 

That  cut  across  the  plain,  unerringly 

Betraying  to  my  eager,  famished  gaze 

Sure  signs  of  living  water,   and,   perchance, 

A  rabbit  or  sage  hen  or  speckled  trout, 

— Refreshment  seasoned  with  the  sauce  of  chance. 

I   reached  the  stream  near  sunset  and  had  but 

Alighted  from  my  horse  to  ease  the  load 

Of  pack  and  saddle  from  his  aching  back, 

When  suddenly  from  out  the  shade  there  strode 

A  graceful  buck,  with  sleek  and  shining  coat. 


Dick  Posey 


Magnificent  he  was  and  fair  to  see, 

Proud  monarch  of  his  realm  of  trackless  plain, 

Clothed  in  true  grace  and  untaught  dignity. 

One  moment  did  I  note  the  splendid  form, 

And  then  with  silent  reach  my  rifle  found, 

When  with  good  luck  and  but  a  single  shot 

I  lay  the  antlered  monarch  on  the  ground. 

With  exaltation  high  I  cast  aside 

My  rifle   and   unclasped   my  hunting   knife 

And  in  a  moment  I  was  bending  o'er 

My  prize,  so  lately  full  of  joyous  life. 


Of  course,  the  act  was  rash  and  did  betray 

My  utter  ignorance  of  huntsman's  lore, 

And,    since   Experience   is   a   teacher   rare, 

Who  oftentimes  must  wield  the  birch  before 

We  are  well  schooled  to  battle  with  this  life, 

It  happened  thus  I  learned  my  lesson  there. 

For  scarce  the  tender  throat  had  felt  the  sting 

Of  knife  point  reaching  for  an  artery, 

E'er  my  prone  supper,  with  a  sudden  spring, 

Had  hurled  .me  backward  with  such  graceful  ease, 

— And  then  he  charged  me,  maddened  with  his  pain, 

Enraged  beyond  endurance  with  the  keen 

Same  of  hatred  for  his  foe.     'Twas  in  vain 

I  tried  to  reach  my  rifle  where  it  lay, 

He  was  upon  me  like  a  rifle  shot! 


Dick  Posey 

I  took  the  impact  of  his  antlered  head 

Upon  my  shoulder,  and  I  felt  a  hot 

Pang  where  the  frontal  prong  had  pierced  my  flesh, 

And  though  it  caused  an  ecstasy  of  pain, 

It  brought  a  sense  of  clamness  to  my  mind, 

— I  must  meet  force  with  force,  instinct  with  brain. 


I  grasped  the  mighty  antlers  of  the  beast, 

— Full  three  feet  did  they  spread  from  tip  to  tip, 

And,  bending  to  my  foe's  impetuous  lunge, 

We  tested  strength  to  strength.    'Twas  well  my  grip 

Was  strong,  my  tendons  hammered  into  steel 

Back  there  on  college  campus  in  my  youth; 

'Twas  well  I'd  ben-  the  oar  of  bounding  shell 

That  sped  old  Harvard  into  fame  again; 

'Twas  well  I'd  sucked  the  keen  breath  of  the  plains 

And  fed  from  bounteous  palm  of  Nature's  hand; 

My  entire  life  seemed  shaped  and  focalized 

To   meet   this  champion   of  a   rugged   land. 

A   spell  we  stood  transfixed   with  muscles  taut, 
Each  feeling  for  some  weakness  in  his  foe, 
When   suddenly   he   reared   and,   striking   out, 
The  sharp  edge  of  his  hoof  cut  keenly  through 
Thick  leathern  "chap"  into  the  flesh  beneath, 
And  I  could  feel  the  warm  blood  trickling  down. 
'Twaa  then  my  manhood  left  me,  and  the  brute 


Dick  Posey 

Of  ancient  forbears  claimed  me  for  its  own. 

I  glared  into  his  eye  with  bestial  hate 

And  met  defiance  in  his  maddened  stare, 

I  tried  to  break  his  neck  with  sudden  twist, 

And  wrenched  it  till  he  squealed  and  bellowed  there; 

I  caught  his  blood-flecked  lip  between  my  teeth 

And  held  on  like  a  bull  dog;   he  swung  me  round, 

But  I  forestalled  his  trick  and  held  him  down. 

Then  back  and  forth  we  struggled,  inch  by  inch, 

His  antlers  biting  deep  into  my  chest, 

My  clothing  torn  to  ribbons,  but  I  dare 

Not  loose  my  iron  grip  upon  him,  lest 

He  strike  me  down  to  death.     We  struggled  on, 

I  felt  him  tremble  with  the  awful  strain 

Of    twisted    neck    and    vital    wound    within; 

His  breath  came  hot  and  labored,  while  again 

I   tried   to   break   his   neck   by   artful   twist 

But  found  my  strength  near  gone;  my  ears  drummed  loud; 

The  universe  seemed   tumbling  into   chaos; 

My  brain  reeled  dizzy  with  the  stress  of  blood; 

My  mem'ry  rolled  backward  like  an  endless  chain; 

I  viewed  my  past  as  does  a  drowning  man. 

And  in  that  blurring  vision  shone  the   face 

Of  her  I  loved,  and  as  the  vision  ran, 

It  seemed  she  mocked  me,  yet  she  spurred  me  on; 

I  felt  my  senses  going,  the  dark  shroud 

Of   blank   oblivion   was   settling   down, 

When  I,  in  wonder,   did  but   feebly  sense 


Dick  Posey 

A  shiver  through  his  form,  a  smothered  groan, 
Then  near  at  hand  a  sudden  sharp  report 
Of  rifle, — then  darkness  came  upon  me. 

I  woke  to  sweet  sound  of  gurgling  water 

That  taunted  my  parched  thirst  to  agony, 

And  when  my  eyelids  lifted  I  saw  dimly 

An  Indian  maiden  bending  over  me. 

"Me  wantum  drink,"  I  gasped;  "heap  thirsty,  iabe?' 

She  pressed  my  own  cup  brimming  to  my  lips, 

And  then  I  swooned  again  within  her  arms. 

I  wakened  to  soft  touch  of  finger  tips 

Upon  my  brow,  and  when  she  saw  that  I 

Was  conscious,  she  placed  me  upon  the  ground. 

"You're  better  now,"  she  said,  "the  worst  is  past." 

Her  voice  was  low  and  gentle,  and  I  found 

Her  English  pure  as  mine. 


"I  humbly  crave 

Your  pardon,  lady,  but  I  thought — you — were — " 
I  stammered.     "Indian?     Well,   I  am,"  she  said, 
"Or  partly  so,"  and  then  I  looked  at  her 
And   knew  she  was   a   "breed." 


Her  splendid  strength 
Sustained  me  as  I  struggled  to  my  feet, 


Dick  Pos 


And  stayed  me  as  I  climbed  the  sloping  bank 
Down  which,  unaided,  she  had  borne  my  weight. 
My  prostrate  foe  lay  where  he  had  fallen, 
While  on  the  carcas  worked  an  Indian  crone, 
Hideous,   toothless,   eager  at  her  task. 

"I  wish  to  thank  some  one  for  my  poor  life. 
I  feel,  beyond  a  doubt,  I  need  not  ask 
Who  fired  the  shot  that  robbed  my  valiant  foe 
Of  well  earned  victory,  so  I  thank  you." 

"Pray  no,"  she  answered  with  a  glint  of  mirth, 
"That  I  did  slay  him,  I  admit  is  true, 
But  then  we  needed  meat.     My  granddame  there 
Counts  this  but  a  godsend,  and  if  you  find 
It  in  your  heart  to  claim  it,  I  pray  you  not, 
She's  all  I  hare, — and — sometimes — she  is  kind." 


I  found  my  wounds  most  painful.     Ere  many  steps 
I  settled  down  once  more  upon  the  ground, 
And  lay  there  'twixt  a  torpor  and  a  swoon. 
She  bathed  with  water  cool  each  painful  wound 
And  'tended  me  with  graceful  skill  and  soon 
I  felt  the  strength  come  back  into  my  veins. 
She  helped  me  up  and  unresistingly 
I  followed  to  their  lodge,   'twas  very  clean 
And  wholesome,  and,  old  friend,  it  seemed  to  m« 
A  paradise  compared  with  what  I'd  seen 


Dick  Poiey 

For  many  months. — A  couch  of  woundrous  ease 
Refreshed  my  tortured  body,  and  a  cool 
Draught  of  refreshing  wine  from  vines  and  tre«s. 
Sweet  with  wild  honey,  and  the  soft,  cool  touch 
Of  woman's  hand,  refreshed  and  soothed  me  to  r«at 


That  night  my  wounds  grew  fevered  and  I  raved, 
And  for  some  days  I  hung  'twixt  life  and  death, 
But  ever  I  could  sense  a  woman  near. 
And  sometimes  I  would  wait  with  bated  br«ath 
Till  she  bent  over  me,  then  I  would  grasp 
Her  hands,  pour  out  my  love  entreatingly, 
— Gabble  the  silly  nonsense  of  my  youth, 
Thinking  she  was  the  one  most  dear  to  m«. 


Abundant  health,  clean  blood  and  tender  care 
Soon  yielded  me  my  strength  in  partial  meed. 
The  food  was  wholesome, — fish  and  venison, 
Wampus,  a  sort  of  bread  made  from  ripe  seed 
Of  swamp  lillies,  most  pleasing  to  the  taste, 
Wild  fruits,  honey  and  roots  dug  from  the  earth, 
— All  poured  out  richly  in  this  favored  land, 
And,  to  these  simple  folk,  of  priceless  worth. 


On«  day  we  two  were  seated  by  th«  str^ai 

The  Indian  maiden,  Niona  and   I. 

In   angwer  to   her  earned   questioning 


Dick  Po 


I  told  her  of  my  life,  and  eagerly 

She  listened  as  a  child  would  to  a  tale 

Of  fairy  land,  go  little  did  she  know 

Of  this  great  worll  outside  her  simple  life. 

Then  in  return,  I  felt  it  right  to  show 

An  interest  in  her  and  asked  that  she 

Would  tell  me  of  her  past.     At  first  she  shrank 

And   hesitated   to   confide  in   me. 

And   then   in   simple   candor,   modest   grac«, 

She  told  me  of  her  life.     And  O,  my  friend, 

'Twas  pitiful.     I  could  but  blush  in  shame 

And   loathing  at  my  own   race  in  the  end: 


"My  people  on  my  mother's  side  were  'Rogues,' 
A  warlike  tribe  that  ranged  these  rugged  lands, 
And  fought  your  people  till  you  crushed  them  down 
And  tore  this  rich  realm  from  their  bloody  hands. 
Pe/haps  'twas  best  my  mother's  tribe  should  dia 
An<A   be   naught  but   a   memory, — a   dream. 
We  simple  folk  but   fail  to  understand 
The  many  ways  of  Providence,   and   why 
The  weak  should  erer  bow  before  the  strong. 
They  fought  the  white  man  for  the  right  to  liv« 
Their  simple  lires  in  their  own  simple  way, 
But  th«y  were  erushed  and,  dying,  did  but  giT« 
Blow  for  blow,   defiance  against  strength 
And  passed  in  bitter  hate,  as  was  their  way. 


Dick  Po«ey 

"My  granddame  there  was  married  in  her  youth 
To  a  white  hunter  of  the  Hudson  Bay, 
And  when  my  mother  lay  upon  her  breast, 
A  new  born  babe,  he  left  them  there  alone 
And  ne'er  returned. — perhaps  'twas  for  the  best. 


"They  tell  me  that  my  mother's  face  was  fair, 
Her  form  was  comely,  and  she  grew  in  grace 
And  beauty  as  the  seasons  came  and  went. 
I  nerer  could  recall  her  form  and  face, 
She  died  when  I  was  but  a  little  child. 
But  oft  my  granddame  talked  of  her  to  me. 
She  grew  to  maidenhood  amid  the  wild 
Environs  of  our  tribal  life  and   ways, 
And  many  of  her  kind  did  try  to  win 
Her  hand  in  marriage  in  her  youthful  days, 
But  e'er  it  seemed  the  white  blood  in  her  veint 
Would  cry  aloud  for  mating  with  its  kind. 


"One  day  there  came  a  white  man  to  the  camp, 

Handsome  and  bold,  and  'twas  not  hard  to  find 

A  welcome,  for  he  carried  treasures  rich 

And  dear  to  Indian  hearts,  and   found   his  way 

Into  their  simple  confidence  with  gifts 

That  cost  him  little.     And  day  by  day 

He  traded  with  them,   giving  beads  for  pelts, 

And  knives  for  skins  of  otter,  perchance  a  gun, 


Dick  Post 


Powder  and  ball  for  priceless  sable  fox. 
Thus  to  his  gain  their  confidence  he  won. 

He   gained   my   mother's   heart   as   easily 

As  I  thus  pluck  this  poppy  from  its  stem, 

And  they  were  married  by  our  simple  rites. 

It  seems  that  peace  and  comfort  dwelt  with  them 

For  many  moons,  he  ever  was  most  kind, 

And  she  enthroned  him  in  her  woman's  heart 

And,  bowing  down,  she  worshipped  at  his  shrine. 

But  then  it  chanced  a  white  man  came  to  camp 
With  letters  for  my  father,  and  he  grew 
Restless  and  morose,  yet  yielding  ofttimes 
To  fits  of  tenderness,  as  though  he  knew 
Her  for  the  priceless  treasure  that  she  was 
Whom  he  much  feared  to  lose.     And  then  one  day 
He  bade   'Farewell   for  but   a   little   while' 
And  left  her  with  her  tribe  and  went  away 
And  ne'er  returned  to  her, — then  I  was  born. 
"She  died  within  a  twelvemonth  from  my  birth, 
— Sank  peacefully  to  rest  one  bright  spring  morn 
Ere  my  frail  lips  had  learned  to  lisp  her  name 
Or  memory  stored  the  image  of  her  form. 


"I  grew  apace,  as  healthy  childhood  grows, 
Basking  in  sunshine,  buffeted  by  storm, 


Dick  Posey 

Scaling  bold  heights  or  tramping  many  miles 
The  pathless  forest,  for  I  knew  no  fear. 
But  as  I  grew,  the  children  of  my  age 
Avoided  me  and  oftentimes  would  sneer 
And  call  me  'Paleface,'  for  they  understood 
The  blood  of  two  white  men  flowed  in  my  veins, 
So  I  was  outcast  from  hate  of  alien  blood. 
I  brooded  much  alone  and  nursed  the  hope 
My  father  would  some  day  return  to  me 
And  take  me  with  him  out  into  the  world, 
— But  he  has  ne'er  returned. 

"My  friend,  I  can  not  see 

Why  he  should  bring  me  to  this  harsh  cold  world 
And  leave  me  here  alone.     Nor  could  I  tell 
Why  a  just  God,  in  whom  I've  learned  to  trust, 
Who  ever  guards  and  loves  the  sparrow  well, 
Should  thus  forsake  me  when  I've  done  no  harm. 
I  now  but  hope  my  father  may  be  dead, 
I  find  no  comfort  in  the  thought  that  he 
Still  lives,  yet  gives  his  flesh  and  blood  r.o  bread 
Nor  comfort  of  his  presence  and   his  /ovo. 


"One  day,  a  missionary,  passing  by, 
Did  find  me  weeping  in  my  loneliness, 
And,  by  his  questioning,  and  kindly  eye, 
Won  my  young  trust  to  him  so  that  I  told 
Him  of  my  childish  griefs.     He  heard  me  through 


Dick  Pose; 


And  talked  to  me  in  gentle,  kindly  way 
Till  I  had  bared  my  whole  life  to  his  view. 
Ah,  he  was  kind  and  tender!  and  he  wept 
At  my  poor  sorrows,  and  I  knew  that  I 
Had  found  a  friend. 


"He  took  me  to  his  home 
And  there  I  lived  three  happy,  blissful  years. 
He  taught  me  what  I  know,  and  O,  the  joy 
I   found   in   many   books! — no   heartaches,    fears, 
Nor  taunts  nor  bitter  hatreds  flung  at  me 
Because  of  hated  white  blood  in  my  veins. 
And  then  I  came  to  know  that  God  is  just, 
And  though  we  suffer  much,  His  strength  sustains 
Us  till  at  last  'tis  measured  back  in  joy. 


"It  seems  that  keenest  pleasures  soonest  end 
As  brightest  sun  but  speeds  the  coming  shower, 
— One  autumn  night  death  robbed  me  of  my  friend. 
He  left  me  all  his  books  and  such  small  store 
Of  simple  furniture  as  you  have  seen 
Within  our  lodge,  but  richer,  dearer  far, 
He  left  a  memory  with  me  like  a  green 
And  fruitful  land,  that  has  enriched  my  life. 
And  given  me  a  hold  on  better  things. 


Dick  Posey 

"I  tarried  at  the  settlement  a  while, 
Taking  such  gifts  as  fickle  Fortune  brings, 
And  in  the  main  they  were  most  kind  to  me, 
Yet  soon  I  missed  his  kind  protecting  care. 
They  knew  that  Indian  blood  flowed  in  my  veins. 
And  I  soon  sensed  the  chasm  stretching  there 
Between  the  outcast  and  her  father's  race. 
And  then  one  day — I  drained  the  bitter  dregs 
Of  outraged  womanhood  and  shame, — I  need 
Not  tell  you  all, — but  one  did  offer  me 
Black  insult,  for  he  knew  I  was  a  'breed.' 


"I  struck  him  fiercely  on  the  lips,  then  fled 
Back  to  my  native  tribe,  but  soon  I  knew 
There  was  no  welcome  for  me,  even  there, 
Then  Granddame  brought  me  to  this  spot,  and  you 
Now  know  Niona's  history." 

She  paused 

And  I  could  see  the  look  of  weary  pain 
Upon  her  face,  and  understood  how  she 
Had  suffered  while  living  o'er  her  life  again. 
I  felt  a  soft  splash  on  my  hand  and  knew 
My  eyes  were  wet  from  pity  of  the  child. 
I  spoke  no  word,  for  feeble  words  ne'er  do 
Convey  the  sense  of  feelings  deeply  stirred. 
So  I  but  pressed  her  hand  in  sympathy 


Dick  Pose: 


And  lingered  by  her  side,  while  each  was  touched 
With  sympathy  for  each. 

Then  gently  she 

Did  look  into  my  eyes  and  ask  that  I 
Should  tell  her  of  the  one  I  deeply  loved, 
And  who  did  not  return  my  love,  and  why 
I  still  should  love  her  so.     And  then  I  knew 
I'd  babbled  in  my  tortured,  fevered  dreams. 
And  so  I  told  her  all,   as  brothers  do 
With  sisters  whom  they  feel  that  they  can  truit. 

"And  yet  you  love  her,  when  you  know  that  she 

Returns  it  not — or  measures  it  with  gold?" 

She   asked.      I   did   not   speak,   but   silently 

1  bowed  my  head.     "And,  friend,  is  there  not  one 

In  this  great  world  that  you  do  know  so  well, 

Among  the   many  women  you  have  known, 

Who,  knowing  you,  would  love  you  for  yourself?" 

I   felt  my  spirit  suddenly  recoil 

As  if  it  were  profaned.     "No,  no,  my  friend, 

I  can  not  lift  my  love  from  virgin  soil 

Where  it  is  rooted,  and  with  careless  hand 

Transplant  and   fix  it   in   another   life, 

You  have  not  loved  or  you  would  understand," 

I  answered. 


Dick  Posey 

"You  would  still  make  her  your  wife 
If  you  had  gold  in  plenty  and  could  give 
Her  priceless  jewels,  robes  of  richest  hue, 
And  all  the  things  most  precious  in  her  eyes, 
If  these  would  win  such  love  as  hers  to  you?" 
I  did  not  speak  to  her  but  knew  that  she 
Had  read  the  answer  in  my  eager  face. 
Then  she  arose  and  beckoned  me  to  come, 
And  silently  I  followed  from  the  place, 
Still  haunted  by  the  picture  she  had  drawn 
And   conjured   out   of   nothingness   for   me. 


How   long  we  walked   I   know   not,   but   at   last 

She  paused  within  a  canyon.     Silently 

She  pointed  upward  where  a  stream  did  leap 

From  lip  of  precipice  through   giddy  space 

And,  caught  by  playful  breeze,  it  broke  in  spray, 

Tumbling  and  bounding  in  the  merry  race 

For  lower  levels.     And  it  chanced  the  sun 

Topped  the  high  hills  and  sent  its  piercing  ray 

Through   sparkling  prisms,   dancing  in  mid   air, 

And  Lo!   a  rainbow  spanned  the  narrow, 

Robing   Niona  with   celestial   light. 

It  was  a  scene  most  beautiful,  my  friend, 

'Mid  all  the  wonders  of  this  wondrous   land, 

And  she  was  beautiful,   'twas  not  till  then 

That  I  did  sense  the  comeliness  of  her, 


Dick  Posey 


— Her  artless  grace  and  unspoiled  maidenhood, 
And  had  my  heart  been  free  and  unpossessed 
I  think  I  could  have  loved  her  as  she  stood. 

"Aha!    you're  standing  at  the  rainbow's  end, 
And  Where's  the  pot  of  gold,  my  lovely  queen?" 
I  cried  with  sudden  happiness  of  heart, 
Caught  from  the  strange,  wild  beauty  of  the  scene. 
"And  shall  we  play  at  fairies,  friend  of  mine?" 
She  cried,  "Your  fate  is  resting  in  my  hand. 
And  shall  I  beckon  goblins  from  their  haunts, 
Or  summon  fairies  with  my  willow  wand? 
Now,  since  I  will  to  you  your  heart's  desire, 
'Tis  thus  Niona  brings  you  back  your  loTe." 

She  swept  apart  the  bushes  at  her  side 
And  motioned  me  within  a  little  cove, 
Formed  by  the  arching  of  great  jagged  rocks. 
The  place  seemed  spectral  in  the  dim  half-night 
And  I  did  not  note  Niona's  face  shone  pale, 
And  that  her  eyes  seemed  burning  with  the  light 
Of  fierce  fires  kindled  deep  within  her  soul. 
"My  friend,  the  rainbow  ended  here,"  she  said, 
And,  pointing  down,  "Behold  your  pot  of  gold." 

And  there  it  lay!   a  tempting,  gleaming  mass, 
Pure  virgin  gold,  full  freed  by  Nature's  hand 


Dick  Poiey 

From  rotting  quartz!      My  wildest  boyhood  dream 

Had   never   pictured   fabled   wealth   so   grand. 

And  as  my  greedy  eyes  devoured  the  scene, 

I  marked  the  ledge  'tween  walls  of  porphyry 

Clearly  defined,  noted  the  timber  there 

Ready  for  use,  nor  did  I  fail  to  see 

The  cataract  that  bared  its  brawny  arm 

To  crush  the  golden  quartz  with  fist  of  steel, 

— All  this)  I  noted  as  I  stood  there  dumb. 

And  then,  half  dazed,  I  felt  the  gentle  touch 

Of  trembling   fingers,   and   Niona's   voice 

Seemed  faint  and  distant  as  if  overmuch 

The  mental  strain  had  sapped  her  strength  away: 


"And  is  Niona's  gift  enough,"  she  breathed 
"To  win  your  lova  back  to  your  empty  arms? 
Is  it  enough  to  fill  her  heart  with  love 
And  add  true  passion  to  her  many  charms? 
Is  it  enough  to  deck  her  in  rich  robes, 
And  hang  rare  jewels  on  her  snowy  breast? 
If  it  but  brings  true  happiness  to  you 
Niona  is  content  her  friend  is  blest." 


I  looked  into  her  earnest,  candid  eyes, 
Whence  shone  her  soul  in  pure  transparency, 
And  knew  my  image  rested  in  her  heart. 


Dick  Pos< 


Of  course',  I  loved  her  not,  but  just  to  see 
A  love  s>D   pure,   unselfish,   she  would   give 
Herself,  her  soul,  her  all  with  bleeding  heart 
To  let  my  poor,   mean,   selfish  passion  live. 
— My  friend,  it  was  a  glimpse  of  Paradise. 
And  though  my  early  love  yet  fettered  me, 
I  knew  my  soul  would  ne'er  be  satisfied 
With  aught  but  glad,  unselfish  love  for  me. 


And  then  I  told  her  that  I  could  not  take 
This  rich  gift  from  her  hand,  and  idly  go 
Through  life  in  wealth  and  luxury  and  ease, 
While  she  no  happiness  nor  peace  would  know; 
That  her  sweet  unselfishness  had  put  to  shame 
The  memory  of  her  whom  yet  I  loved; 
That,  hud  the  wealth  she  offered  me  been  mine 
By  righit  of  honest  toil,  her  act  had  proved 
I  ne'er  <eould  be  content  with  purchased  love. 


She  said  but  little  and  we  left  the  spot 

With  scarce  a  backward  glance,  and  all  that  night 

I  wrestled  with  the  problem  of  our  fate. 

1  could  not  leave  her  thus,  I  had  no  right 

When  «he  had  saved  me  from  a  brutal  death, 

And,  from  the  fullness  of  unselfish  love, 

She  gladly  offered  me  her  new  found  wealth, 


Dick 


—  To  build  my  life  upon  her  broken  heart. 
Jack,  I  could  not  leave  her  thus,  nor  could  I 
Ask  her  to  leave  her  lodge  with  me  unwed. 

I  thought  of  marriage,   but  I  held  the  tie 
Too  sacred.  —  Then  to  think  of  child  of  mine 
Who  must  endure  the  taint  of  Indian  blood! 
And  my  imagination  conjured   up 
Tales  that  often  I  had  read  in  boyhood, 
Of  how  a  hybred  breed  would  oft  revert 
To  darkened  skin  or  bestial  savagery. 

—  And  then  Niona's  sad,  sweet  face  would  com* 
Before    my    mental    vision,    silently 
Rebuking   all   my   selfish    fears   and   doubts 

Next  day  I  asked  the  child  to  marry  me, 

—  To  link  her  life  with  mine  that  we  might  go 
Away  together,  and  explained  that  she 

Need  but  to  love  me  as  a  brother  true, 
And  she  would  be  a  sister  by  my  side, 
To  cheer  and  comfort  me.     And  I  did  pledg* 
To   be  her  faithful  brother  and  abide 
With  her  the  same  as  if  my  parents'  blood 
Flowed  in  her  veins,  and  hold  inviolate 
Her  maiden  purity,   and   she  should 
Be  the  sister  for  whom  I'd  ever  yearn«d. 

At  flnt  she  wept  and  gaid  it  could  not  be, 
Her  Indian  blood  would  ev«r  hold  m«  down 


Dick  Posey 


To  her  own  level;   that  men  would  call  me 

"The  Squaw  Man";  that  the  time  might  come  when  I 

Would  look  upon  her  with  a  sense  of  shame, 

And  that  would  break  her  heart  and  wreck  my  life 

And   cast  a  blight   upon   my  father's  name. 

I  reasoned   with   her   long   and   earnestly, 

Telling  her  that  never  should  I  return 

To  childhood  home,  for  none  was  left  there  now 

To  comfort  me  or  for  my  presence  yearn, 

Till  finally  she  yielded  her  consent. 

Next  day  we  sought  an  agency  nearby 
And  found  a  missionary  well  content 
To  earn  a  marriage  fee,  and  we  were  wed. 

Niona's  granddame  seemed  quite  reconciled, 
Taking  with  greedy  hands  the  gifts  I  gava, 
Happy  and  eager  as  a  little  child 
To  bid   farewell   and   go   back  to   her  tribe. 

We  harvested  Niona's  yellow   gold 
With  eagerness  frail  words  can  ne'er  describe. 
The  lust  for  it  seems  born  within  us,  and 
Where  e'er  it  tracks  its  yellow,  gleaming  trail 
Man  grasps  for  it  with  clutching  greedy  hand, 
Though  it  should  lead  him  to  the  jaws  of  Hell. 
We  marked  the  ledge  and  measured  off  our  claimg 
As  I  had  learned  in  camp. 


Dick  Poser 

No  use  to  tell    ' 

You  all  or  weary  you  with  dull  detail, 
Inside  a  month  a  princely  fortune  came 
Within  our  hands.    We  settled  in  this  spot, 
And  here  we  still  abide,  even  the  same 
As  when  I  married  her,  a  sister,  she, 
And  to  keep  my  pledge  I  faithfully  have  tried. 
But  often  I  do  feel  the  bitter  sting 
Of  deep  humiliation,  not  of  my  pride, 
But  that  I  know  how  keen  she  feels  the  pain 
When  neighbors,  thoughtless,  but  with  fair  intent 
Do  call  me  "Squaw  Man",  and  it  is  in  vain 
I  tell  her  that  it  matters  naught  to  me, 
Yet  she  will  often  brood  alone  and  weep, 
Thinking  it  fault  of  hers  that  I  must  drink 
The  wormwood  of  humiliation  deep. 
Ah!  Niona." 


And  she  was  standing  there. 
Queenly  she  was  and  very  fair  to  see, 
Straight  and  well  rounded  as  the  mountain  pine, 
Her  eyes  like  moonless  midnight,  and  the  free, 
Easy  poise  of  her,  and  womanly  grace 
Of  form  and  feature  made  a  picture  rare, 
Well  graven  in  my  heart.     And  now  that  I 
Do  look  back  from  ripe  age  and  see  her  there, 
And  though  the  fires  of  passion  burn  but  low, 


Dick  Poaey 


I  feel  anew  the  same  sweet,  thrilling  charm 
That  drew  my  soul  to  her,  I  know  not  how. 


He  called  her  to  us  and  in  kindly  words 
He  named  me  as  his  nearest,  dearest  friend, 
Asking  her  kindly  welcome,  which  in  grace 
And   simple  dignity   she  did  extend. 


I   found  their  home  a  cozy  little  nest 

Filled  with  comfort  such  as  ample  means  afford* 

In  frontier  Oregon,  and  O!   the  rest 

And  luxury  of  easy  couch;  and  food 

Prepared  by  woman's  hand;  and  the  dear 

Memories  of  home;  the  scent  of  flowers 

In  radiant  glory;  the  sweet  atmosphere, 

Fragrant  and  clean  rinsed  through  resinous  boughs; 

And,  spread  before  us  in  beauty  unsurpassed, 

The  Valley  of  the  Rogue,  bedecked  in  all 

The  radiance  of  summer,  and  the  vast 

Stretch  of  encircling  mountains,  like  a  frame 

To  wondrous  picture  from  the  hand  of  God. 


Much  have  I  wandered  in  my  earthly  span, 
Many   a   foreign   land   my   feet   have   trod; 
I  have  gazed  on  Alpine  beauty,  Egypt, 


Dick  Posejr 

And  sacred   Palestine,  where  God  came  down 
From  central  realm  of  Universal  Space 
And  took  man  to  his  bosom  as  his  own; 
I've  scaled  the  lofty  Andes  of  the  South 
And  left  footprints  in  the  Himalayan  snow 
But  ne'er  a  spot  on  earth  compares  with  this 
Sweet  Valley  of  the  Rogue,  where  ever  blow 
Zephyrs  laden  with  the  smell  of  flowers, 
Softened   in  winter   by  the  ocean's  breath, 
Cooled   in  midsummer  by   high   altitudes 
Where  lurk  eternal  snows  in  mountain  cleft. 

And  so  the  happy  days  slid  by  like  happy  dreams 
In  happy  childhood,  and  we  three  drew  near 
Each  other,  as  do  souls  in  intimate 
And  congenial  intercourse,  grow  yet  more  dear. 

Philip  made  good  his  promise  and  we  spent 
Long  days  in  keenest  sport  with  rod  and  creel. 
And  O,  the  joy  of  casting  tempting  fly 
Into  some  shaded  pool!  and  then  to  feel 
The  surge  of  unseen  life  with  startled  plunge, 
Try  to  escape  the  thing  that  checks  its  speed 
And  binds  it  to  some  enemy  it  fears! 
With  joy  we  note  the  singing  reel  and  he«d 
The  bend  of  supple  rod,  and  rush  of  line 
'Neath  burning  finger.     Sudden  it  doth  break 


Dick  Posey 


The  glassy  surface  of  the  pool,  and  high 

It  leaps  into  the  air  and  tries  to  shake 

The  hook  from  aching  throat,  then  down  once  more 

Into  its  native  element,  and  yields 

To  unknown  skill  it  cannot  understand. 


Niona  told  us  of  a  lake  that  wields 

A  fearsome  spell  upon  the  Indian  heart. 

It  lay  upon  the  crest  of  the  Cascades, 

Deep  sunk  within  a  cavern,  and  'twas  said 

No  warrior  is  so  brave  but  he  evades 

The  weird   enchantment  of  the   awful   spot, 

Lest  demons  that  disport  beneath  the  wave 

Will  clutch  his  soul  and  pull  him  down  to  Hell. 

Nor  durst  they  even  look  upon  it,  save 

In  winter  when   'tis  crusted  o'er  with  ice, 

Which  holds  the  demons  prisoned  down  below. 

'Twas  known  among  the  whites  as  "Craker  Lake", 

And  we  arranged  a  pilgrimage  to  go 

And  view  this  wondrous  work  of  nature's  hand. 


I  find  not  space  within  this  humble  tale 
To  tell  to  you  the  glories  we  beheld. 
And  had  I  ipace,  my  puny  words  would  fail 
To  lift  the  canvas  from  God's  masterpiece. 
We  threaded  forests  where  the  giant  pine 


Dick  Posey 

Rose  smooth  and  limbless  for  an  hundred  feet; 
We  mounted  granite  pinnacles  to  find 
New  undiscovered  glories  spread  beneath, 
Around,  above   us,  far  as  eye  could  reach, 
Which  we  could  but  behold  with  bated  breath; 
We   stumbled    upon    dazzling   silver    lakes, 
Smiling  in   sunlight, — one   that   I   recall, 
"Lake  of  the  Woods,"  folded  in  Woodland  arms, 
— An  artist's  dream,  rare  jewel  of  them  all; 
And  then  the  luxury  of  evening  camp, 
Pitched  hastily  on  brink,  of  murm'ring  stream, 
And  then  the  banquet  of  the  wilderness! 
The   sizzling   venison,    delicious   steam 
Of  fragrant  coffee, — diet  of  the  gods! 

— Speak  not  to  me  of  gilded  banquet  hall, 
Where  wealth  and  beauty  grace  the  glit'tring  board, 
Where  glint  of  gems  on  snowy  bosoms  call 
A  challenge  to  the  gleam  of  radiant  wine, 
Where  softened  music  like  a  pleasant  dream 
Steals  on  the  sated  ear  in  strains  divine; 
But,  kindly  spread  my  banquet  'neath  the  trees, 
With  tried  and  kindred  spirits  clustered  'round, 
Where  wealth  of  intellect  and  grace  of  soul 
And  trusted  friendship  ever  may  be  found. 

And,  should  we  look  for  gleaming  jewels  there, 
Just  look  above,  each  incandescent  star 


Dick  POSH., 


Gleams  from  its  sapphire  setting  in  the  sky 
And   spreads   its   brilliant   radiance   from   afar. 
And  music?     Listen  to  the  waterfall; 
The  chirp  of  homing  bird  in  glad  content; 
The  hum  of  insects;  note  of  night-hawk's  call; 
The  whispering  trees; — all  form  one  instrument, 
Which,  swept  by  velvet  touch  of  summer  breeze, 
Makes  one  vast,  sobbing  melody  sublime, 
That  lulls  us  into  slumber  'neath  the  trees. 


Early  one  morning,   wading  deep   in  snow, 

As  dazzled  eyes  did  meet  the  sun's  first  rays, 

We  topped  the  frustum  of  a  mighty  cone, 

The  object  of  our  tramp  of  many  days. 

'Tis  but  a  remnant  of  the  loftiest  peak 

That  in  past  ages  graced  the  Cascade  Range, 

Ere  smothered  gases,  deep  within  the  earth, 

Biting  igneous  walls,  did  feel  a  strange 

Blast  from  mighty  furnaces  below, 

And  suddenly  igniting,  loosed  the  strength 

That  shook  a  hemisphere  from  pole  to  pole; 

Then  upward  leaping  through  the  blackened  length 

Of  vast  volcanic  throat  it  tore  its  way, 

Shaking  the  mountain  from  its  base  to  crest 

In  a  mad  rush  toward  the  light  of  day; 

Till  shortened  radius  could  no  longer  hold 

The  force  within.     The  mountain  burst  In  twain. 


Dick  Posey 

Its  mighty  apex  leaping  to  the  sky, 
And  then  a  deluge  of  infernal  rain 
Of  fiery  lava  scorched  the  helpless  earth. 

And  when  in  time,  the  pre-historic  sun 
Peered  through  the  rifts  of  rapor,  it  beheld 
A  ruined  mountain.     And  'tis  thus  was  won 
The  rock-ribbed  resting  place  of  Crater  Lake. 

Straight  down  below  our  eyes  two  thousand  feet 
Trembled  the  surface  of  this  wondrous  lake. 
It  lay  there  slumbering  in  its  bed,  replete 
With  unearthly  beauty,  its  sapphire  hue 
Richer  by  far  than  blue  of  summer  skies. 
And  as  it  dimpled  to  the  wind's  soft  kiss, 
New  shades  and  colors  met  our  hungry  eyes, 
And  fleecy  clouds,  hung  laziry  above, 
Were  mirrored  back  in  all  their  beauty  rare; 
And  warrior  eagle,  soaring  in  the  sky, 
Shrieked  angry  challenge  to  his  reflex  there. 
And,  cheat  of  human  vision!     It  but  seemed 
A  scant  two  miles  across  from  brim  to  brim, 
But  when  you  chain  its  vast  circumference, 
Full  twenty  miles  it  measures  'round  its  rim. 

And  then,  the  sweetness  of  its  solitude; 
The  patience  of  the  Hand  that  set  it  there; 


Dick  Posej 

The  deep  blue  of  the  arching  sky  above; 
The  vigor  of  its  clean,  pure  atmosphere, 
— All  stamped  upon  my  soul  indelibly, 
To  dwell  with  me  through  all  eternity. 

We  pitched  our  camp  beside  an  ice  cold  spring 

That  gushed  from  rocks  in  crystal  purity, 

And  there  we  dwelt  for  many  happy  days. 

We  climbed  new  heights,  gained  different  points  of  view, 

Thus  adding  to  the  scene  in  varied  ways. 

And  ever  did  our  hearts  respond  in  warmth 

To   richer   friendships   springing   up   between. 

And  gladly  did  I  note  the  tender  care 

That  Philip  gave  Niona.     It  was  e'en 

My  fondest  hope  that  some  day  her  sweet  grace 

And  womanly  devotion  would  awake 

Within  his  heart  the  lore  of  man  for  wife, 

— The   richest   earthly   gift   from   God   we   take. 

For  that  she  loved  him  deeply  I  did  know, 

Although  she  simply  asked  a  sister's   part 

Beside  him  in  their  cordial,  friendly  life, 

But  yet  another  image  filled  his  heart. 

I  often  ponder  in  these  later  years 

On  the  strange  riddle  of  this  human  love. 

'Tis  but  a  tangled  skein  in  clumsy  hands, 

My  fingers  meddling  with  what  Fate  has  wore. 


Dick  Posey 

I  knew  the  one  whc  still  ruled  Philip's  life, 
Selfish,  fickle,  with  but  scarce  a  thought 
Or  care  for  all  life's  grander,  nobler  things. 
And  then  to  see  the  one  whom  Pate  had  brought 
Into  his  life, — fit  queen  for  any  king, 

Ah,  could  but  love  as  that  have  touched  my  life, 
Wedded  to  me  in  purity  and  trust, 
With  all  the  sweet  intimacies  of  wife 
And  husband,  cementing  our  lives  in  one! 
Then,  by  God's  grace,  to  feel  the  gentle  touch 
Of  baby  hands,  helpless  yet  strong  as  steel, 
Binding  our  souls  with  thankfulness  o'ermuch, 
1  should  not  now,  at  three  score  years  and  ten, 
Mourn  for  the  wife  who  never  had  been  mine, 
Nor  feel  this  lonely  void  of  empty  arms. 

One  day  while  we  were  basking  in  the  shine 

Of  faultless  summer,  a  neighbor  came  to  us 

To  look  upon  the  beauties  of  the  lake. 

He  tarried  through  the  day  and  won  our  hearts 

With  his  gay  bant'ring,  and  we  did  take, 

With  welcome  from  his  hand,  a  goodly  store 

Of  venison.     His  wife  was  Indian  bred, 

And  through  her  rights  he'd  taken  up  rich  lands. 

And  he  urged  that  Philip,  since  he  had  wed 

An  Indian,  should  profit  by  the  law 


Dick  Posey 


And  file  on  lands  adjoining  his  domain, 

And  by  united  effort  in  much  ease 

They'd  win  a  fortune  to  their  mutual  gain. 

'Twas  through  a  neighbor's  kindness  that  he  spok« 

But  I  could  see  the  sudden  droop  of  shame 

And  flush  of  wounded  pride  on  Philip's  face 

At  thought  or  mention  of  the  hated  name 

Of  "Squaw-man."     And  Niona  at  my  side 

Grew  rigid,  and  'twas  pitiful  to  see 

The  look  she  bent  en  Philip,  and  to  note 

The  travatt  of  her  soul  in  agony. 

And  when  the  man  had  left  us  we  did  feel 

That  suddenly,  the  spot  that  charmed  us  so, 

Had  lost  its  spell  upon  us,  and  we  planned 

That  early  the  next  morning  we  should  go 

Back  to  the  ease  and  comfort  of  a  home. 


After  the  sun  had  set  I  left  the  camp 

To  take  a  last  view  of  the  wondrous  scene. 

I  clambered  down  the  rocky  trail  til  I 

Had  reached  the  margin  of  the  lake,  but  e'en 

Its  woundrous  beauty  failed  to  touch  my  heart. 

I  watched  the  summer  moon  rise  pale  and  white 

O'er  all  before  me,  and  the  loveliness 

But  added  to  my  sense  of  solitude. 

I  pondered  deeply  on  the  ways  of  Pate, 

Trying  in  vain  to  sound  the  fickle  mood 


Dick  Posey 

In  which  she  chose  to  hold  two  lives  apart. 

I  looked  into  my  heart  and  knew  that  they 

Were  both  most  dear  to  me,  and  hoped  that  I 

Had  found  like  favor  with  them  and  hoped  the  daj 

Would  come  ere  long  when  I  should  see  them  wed 

In  soul  as  well  as  by  the  laws  of  man. 

Possessed  of  wealth  surpassing  all  their  needs, 

With  honesty  of  purpose  toward  each,  and 

With  wealth  of  intellect  to  take  a  grasp 

Upon  the  richer,  nobler  things  of  life, 

It  seemed  to  me  a  union,  blest  indeed, 

— The  mating  of  a  manly  man  with  one 

Possessed  of  all  to  fill  life's  cup  with  joy. 


And  thus  my  mind  did  wander  on  and  on, 

Conjuring  up  a  dream  that  pleased  me  much, 

When  I  should  find  sweet  comfort  in  their  home, 

Seated  with  them  around  the  glowing  hearth, 

While  children  of  their  love,  perchance  would  come, 

And  clamber  on  my  knee  in  friendliness. 

I  pictured  them  out  in  the  world  of  men, 

Where  he  by  rigat  of  character  should  dwell, 

And  she  could  have  her  chance  among  them.     Then, 

My  lazy  fancy  saw  her  standing  by 

The  one  that  robbed  her  of  a  husband's  love, 

And  I  could  see  Niona's  splendid  form 

Well  robed  in  fashion's  fancies,  see  her  move 


Dick  Posey 


In  queenliness  among  her  kind,  and  how 
Her  eyes  would  sparkle  in  the  brilliant  light. 
— Pictured  her  hair,  black  as  a  raven's  wing, 
Her  rounded  bosom  aglint  with  jewels  bright, 
And  smiled  to  see  the  other's  feeble  charms 
Sink  into  nothing  by  Niona's  side. 

I  took  a  farewell  glance  upon  the  lake, 

Then,  looking  up,  I  saw  a  dark  form  glide 

Out  on  a  jutting  crag  that  overhung 

The  hungry  waters  full  three  hundred  feet. 

My  pulses  chilled,  for  there  Niona  stood 

In  silhouette  against  the  sky.     Then  sweet 

Her  voice  came  floating  to  me  through  the  gloom, 

The  voice  she  lifted  up  in  prayer  to  God: 

"Father  above,  in  whom  I've  learned  to  trust, 
Who  knowest  the  stony  path  my  feet  have  trod, 
If  thou  canst  hear  me,  listen  to  my  prayer. 
Naught  do  I  ask  that  Thou  shouldst  give  to  me, 
But,  from  the  fullness  of  a  breaking  heart, 
I  plead  that  Thou  wilt  take  the  misery 
From  Philip's  life,  that  he  may  lift  his  head 
Among  his  kind,  nor  feel  a  sense  of  shame. 
Father,  I  love  him  so!     May  sweet  content 
Dwell  ever  with  him,  and  grant  that  his  name 
May  lose  the  stain  my  mother's  blood  has  wrought." 


Dick  Posej 

Her  voice  was  drowned  in  weeping  for  a  spell, 

And  I  could  see  the  look  of  agony 

Upon  her  face,  as  e'en  my  own  tears  fell, 

I  durst  not  move,  lest  I  should  startle  her, 

— But  one  false  step  and  she  would  plunge  to  death 

I  could  but  wonder  why  she  chose  such  spot 

For  her  devotions — then  with  gasping  breath, 

I  felt  a  cold  fear  clutch  my  leaping  heart, 

And  all  my  blood  seemed  to  congeal  within. 

Then,  lifting  up  her  face  to  Heaven,  she  sobbed; 

"Forgive  Niona,  if  this  be  a  sin." 


Light  as  an  arrow  from  the  hunter's  bow, 

She  plunged  head  downward  into  empty  space. 

Tne  giddy  distance  stretched  its  hungry  arm» 

And  folded  her  in  cruel,  still  embrace. 

Straight  as  a  shatt  she  cut  the  stagnant  air, 

It  writhed  and  shrieked  and  whistled  'round  her  form ; 

Its  restless  fingers  loosed  her  glorious  hair 

And  tossed  it  streaming  backward  like  a  shroud. 

There  come  strange  moments  in  these  lives  of  ouri, 
When  we  no  longer  sense  the  flight  of  time; 
When  seconds  lengthen  into  endless  hours, 
And  destinies  are  moulded  in  a  breath. 
Such  moments  come  to  us  in  stress  of  soul, 
On  that  strange  border  line  of  life  and  death. 


Dick  Poser 


'Twas  thus  it  seemed  Niona  checked  her  flight 
And  hung  transfixed  and  balanced  in  mid  air. 
— 'Twas  then  I  knew  I  loved  her — that  her  life 
Was  precious  to  my  heart  and  dearer  far 
Than  Mother,  Soul  or  hope  of  Heaven — or  wife 
Or  child,  that  future  years  might  hold  for  me. 

I  struck  the  water  just  as  Niona's  form 
Plunged  deep  into  its  cold  transparency. 
I'm  but  a  feeble  swimmer,  in  my  youth 
I  scare  could  swim  a  hundred  yards  unspent, 
And  there,  the  icy  waters  of  the  lake, 
Fed  by  the  melting  of  the  vast  snow  banks,  sent 
Shafts  of  cold  pain  along  each  startled  nerve. 
It  seemed  I  held  it  naught  that  I  should  die, 
I  knew  I  could  not  bear  her  to  the  shore, 
But  by  some  power  I  could  not  fathom,  I 
Held  life  as  naught — What  difference  if  I  found 
A  resting  place  within  that  crystal  lake? 
One  moment's  pain,  and  then  forgetfulness; 
Then,  very  soon,  my  spirit  would  awake 
And,  tossing  the  waves  aside,  take  its  flight 
To  realms  prepared  for  me,  I  know  not  where. 

I  reached  the  spot  where  she  had  disappeared, 
And,  treading  water,  I  sustained  me  there, 
Though  all  the  demons,  born  of  Indian  creed 
Seemed  to  unite  their  strength  to  pull  me  down. 


Dick  Posey 

It  seemed  to  me  a  torturing  stretch  of  years 

I  peered  into  the  depths.    At  last  there  shone 

A  paler  radience — 'twas  Niona's  form 

Coming  to  me  with  outstretched  hands  for  aid. 

God!  how  I  loved  her — not  as  man  for  wife, 

But  with  a  passion  that  is  fixed  and  staid 

Deep  in  the  unknown  chambers  of  the  soul; 

A  love  that  knows  not  time,  content  to  wait 

Till,  somehow,  somewhere,  earthly  things  have  passed, 

Eternity  unrolls  the  scroll  of  Fate, 

And  love,  untramelled,  comes  into  its  own. 

She  broke  the  surface  at  my  side  as  calm 

As  though  she  sought  but  pleasure  there  alone. 

"Why  did  you  come  to  me,  my  friend?"  she  asked, 

I  gasped,  "You  must  not  die  a  suicide!" 

And  then  the  waters  with  their  icy  hands 

Twisted  and  cramped  my  flesh  until  I  cried 

Aloud  in  pain  and  writhed  in  agony, 

My  muscles  twisting  into  knots  like  steel, 

— The  demons  of  the  lake  had  mastered  me. 

And  that  my  time  was  short,  I  could  but  feel. 

"Go  back  to  Phil,  his  love  will  come  to  you, 

Good-bye!" 

I  scarce  had  sunk  when  her  firm  hand 
Did  drag  me  back,  and  soon  with  steady  stroke 
She  bore  me,  weak  and  helpless,  to  the  land. 


Dick  Posey 


We  said  but  little — little  could  be  said. 
My  blood  reacted  with  a  healthy  glow 
And  very  soon  I  was  myself  again. 


Silently  we  climbed  the  rocky,  steep  ascent, 

Pausing  at  times  to  ease  the  constant  strain 

Of  o'ertaxed  muscles,  our  garments  steaming 

From  the  heat  within,  till  at  length  we  stood 

Safely  upon  the  brink  of  the  abyss. 

We  gazed  a  moment  on  the  moonlit  flood 

That  had  released  us  from  its  icy  grip, 

While  strange  emotions  cast  their  silent  spell 

Upon  us.     Then  she  took  my  outstretched  hand; 

"This  night  will  lire  through  all  eternity," 

She  breathed,  "I  do  not  claim  to  understand 

The  link  that  seems  to  bind  us,  each  to  each, 

But  this  I  feel :  so  long  as  souls  shall  live, 

We  shall  dwell  ever  near,  sustaining  each 

With  age-long  friendship  that  we  both  shall  giv«." 


Next  day  we  started  on  the  homeward  trail. 

We  took  a  different  route  that  led  us  down 

Rogue  River,  with  its  wild  meanderings, 

Swollen  by  snow-fed  streams,  that  sprang  from  frowm~ 

Ing  mountain  chasms,  gorged  with  perpetual  snows. 

We  fought  great  salmon  waist  deep  in  the  stream 


Dick  Posey 

Till  our  poor  horses  groaned  beneath  the  load. 
And  ever  as  we  wandered  it  did  seem 
We  found  new  beauties,  richer  than  before. 
I'll  ne'er  forget  old  Mount  McLaughlin,  grand, 
A  perfect  cone,  crested  with  dazzling  snow, 
Stern  sentinel,  o'erlooking  all  the  land, 
Nor  Roxy  Ann,  of  a  more  modest  mien, 
Green  robed  and  restful  to  the  weary  eye. 

We  reached  our  home,  tired  and  travel  worn, 

And  grasped  its  comforts  with  a  grateful  sigh. 

And  then  we  whiled  the  lazy  weeks  away 

With  rod  and  gun  in  hunter's  paradise. 

And  ever  would  we  happen  on  strange  sights, 

— New  wealth  and  beauty  did  constantly  arise, 

— Mineral  springs,  with  gases  deftly  charged, 

Gushed  from  the  earth  with  power  to  ease  and  heal 

Many  of  the  infirmities  of  man. 

The  mountains  had  entrancing  tales  to  tell; 
For  miles  we  traced  the  coast-line  of  a  sea 
That  once  had  beat  high  up  their  rocky  sides. 
Prom  Grizzly  Peak  to  Roxy  Ann  did  we 
Trace  it  by  shells  imbedded  in  the  rocks. 


Dick  Pose 


And  though  the  way  was  rugged,  yet  it  gave 

Full  measure  of  reward  for  effort  spent. 

We  found  the  entrance  in  a  vast  ravine 

And  pitching  our  camp  we  took  well  earned  repose. 

Next  day  we  entered.    'Twas  a  tomb-like  scene. 

And  beautiful  beyond  description.     Far 

As  our  dim  candles  sent  their  rays,  the  walls 

Of  purest  marble  glittered  in  the  light, 

And  tossed  back  myriad  echoes  to  our  calls. 

We  clambered  through  scant  fissures  but  to  find 

Entrance  to  new  wonders.     Clear  stalactites, 

Inverted  cones,  pendant  from  ceilings  high, 

While  from  the  floor  arose  great  stalagmites, 

Gleaming  like  cut  glass  in  the  candle  light. 

In  one  recess  we  found  a  table  spread 

With  gorgeous  napery,  spun  from  snowy  white 

Threads  of  crystaled  carbonates;  and  white  swans 

Floating  in  crystal  pools;  and  tubes  of  glass 

Which,  at  an  artist's  touch  would  send  forth  straing 

Sweet  as  the  notes  of  sirens  as  they  pass; 

And  bedoirs  furnished  in  rich  draperies, 

To  tempt  the  weary  traveler  to  repose; 

A  "Curiosity  Shop"  filled  with  toys 

And  trinkets;  the  white  lily  and  the  rose 

Blooming  in  scentless  beauty,  side  by  side; 

And  everywhere  our  candles'  flick'ring  rays 

Kindled  rich  flames  of  colors,  magnified, 

Diffused,  into  bewildering  hues  and  shades. 


Dick  Posey 

And  then,  there  was  the  waters'  ceaseless  drip, 
Shaping  forms  and  fancies  with  patient  care, 
Nor  note  of  time,  while  years,  unheeded,  slip 
On  silent  wings  into  the  fading  past; 
And  then,  the  denseness  of  the  quietude, 
With  naught  to  break  it  but  the  crystal  drop, 
Building,  ever  building,  in  solitude! 


We  spent  two  days  in  this  bewilderment 

Of  marble  caverns.     With  ladders  improvised 

Prom  slender  saplings,  and  with  our  lariats 

We  scaled  high  walls  to  find  new  wonders,  prized 

For  the  great  effort  their  attainment  cost. 

We  found  it  vain,  even  to  estimate 

The  vastness  of  the  subterranean  halls. 

I  think  that  time  will  prove,  they  permeate 

The  entire  mountain  with  a  tangled  skein 

Of  fissures,   labyrinths   and   lofty  domes, 

— Mile  upon  mile  of  quaintest  fairyland. 


In  after  years  when  eagerly  man  comes 
To  probe  the  secrets  that  lie  hidden  there, 
With  pick  and  powder  he  will  drive  his  way 
Prom  room  to  room,  enlarging  narrow  halls. 
Bridging  deep  chasms  until  at  length  they  lay, 
In  all  the  mysteries  of  hoary  age, 
Open  to  the  world's  inquiring  gaze. 
— A  wondrous  story  written  in  the  rockr 


Dick  Posey 

We  pitched  our  camp  within  another  maze 

Of  mountain  wonders.     Ashland  Creek,  with  all 

Its  many  wanderings  down  a  stately  gorge. 

It  springs  from  melting  snows  amid  the  tall 

Pine  clad  cliffs,  and  e'en  from  the  very  crest 

Of  old  Mount  Ashland,  robed  in  dazzling  white. 

Ne'er  in  all  my  wanderings  had  I  beheld 

A  stream  like  that.     Had  I  but  words,  I  might 

Paint  a  pen  picture  that  would  faintly  show 

Meager  glimpses  of  varied  beauty  there. 

Step  above  step,  thousands  of  cascades  rise 

'Tween  grassy  banks  studded  with  flowers  rare, 

The  water  whipped  to  foam  in  tumbling  flight; 

And  gray  squirrels  chattering  on  leafy  boughs; 

The  whirr  of  mountain  quail  from  hidden  nest; 

The  chirp  of  robins  and  the  call  of  grouse; 

And  oftentimes  it  chanced  a  clumsy  bear 

Took  sudden  fright  and  fled  from  hostile  man; 

And  deer,  so  plentiful  and  unafraid, 

They  e'en  would  almost  feed  from  outstretched  hand, — . 

We  chanced  upon  a  cougar,  red  with  blood 

Of  spotted  fawn  the  creature  had  just  slain; 

And  high  above  as  on  a  ridge  appeared 

A  band  of  elk,  marching  in  stately  train 

Upon  their  beaten  trail.     And  everywhere 

Sylvan  retreats  offered  alluring  shade, 

Tempting  us  to  kindle  our  camp  fires  there. 

*******  *  * 


I  stood  upon  Mount  Ashland's  lofty  crest, 

Niona  at  my  side,  to  watch  the  sun 

Rise  from  its  golden  couch  beyond  the  hillg. 


Dick  Posey 

We  saw  the  shadows  lift,  and  one  by  one, 

The  mountain  peaks  were  tipped  with  liquid  gold; 

The  shades  of  night  went  racing  to  the  west 

And  all  the  higher  places  smiled  to  greet 

This  daily  miracle  from  out  the  east. 

First,  Shasta  rose,  shaking  night's  sable  robes 

Prom  brawny  shoulders,  snowy  crest  held  high, 

Shaping  the  outline  of  his  giant  bulk 

In  silhouette  against  the  streaming  sky; 

Then  the  new  born  day  in  bouyant  glee 

Caught  old  McLoughlin  in  its  warm  embrace 

And  planted  a  kiss  upon  his  glowing  brow; 

And  next  old  Baldy  showed  his  pallid  face 

From  nightly  vigils  o'er  the  "Marble  Caves;" 

Then  Grizzly,  Roxy  Ann  and  Pompadour 

Shouldered  into  riew;  and  then  the  valley 

Glowed  in  the  splendor  of  the  morning  hour. 

It  was  a  view  well  worth  the  arduous  climb 

Through  darkness  up  the  steep  and  rocky  trail. 

And  stays  impressed  upon  my  memory 

Where  loftier  views  in  other  climes  but  fail. 


Niona  spoke:     "I'm  glad  I  live,  my  friend, 
And,  but  for  you,  I  should  not  now  be  here. 
Can  you  discern  those  rim  rocks  jutting  out 
To  right  of  old  McLoughlin?     It  was  there 
I  tried  to  leap  into  forgetfulness. 
I  do  not  feel  that  'twould  have  been  a  sin, 
As  'twas  for  Philip's  sake  and  not  for  mine, 
But,  O,  this  life  is  sweet,  if  but  to  win 
Momenta  like  these  from  out  our  little  span. 
But  I  was  sorely  tried  that  I  should  be 


Dick  Pose.v 


Ever  a  shame  and  burden  to  his  life. 
And,  had  I  died,  my  friend,  can  you  not  see 
That,  with  his  gold,  Philip  might  e'en  return 
To  her  who  rules  his  life  and  buy  her  love? 
And  then  at  times  I  feared  that  I  should  lose 
Control  of  my  weak  self — my  heart  might  move 
In  answer  to  an  impulse,  and  the  fear 
Was  ever  present  and  I  trembled  lest, 
Forgetting  I  had  but  the  sister's  part, 
I  throw  myself  in  passion  on  his  breast. 
And  so  I  thought  'twas  best,  but  as  I  fell 
I  saw  you  leap  to  rescue  me,  and  then 
I  must  not  let  you  lose  your  life  for  mine, 
And  so  I  came  back  to  my — more  than  friend." 


"Niona,  dear,  I  feel  that  you  do  know 
Philip  and  you  are  both  most  dear  to  me, 
— I  wish  you  both  life's  fullest  meed  of  joy, 
And  'tis  my  fondest  wish  that  you  should  be 
Wedded  to  each  by  all  the  sacred  ties 
Of  wife  and  husband;  but,  Niona,  child, 
You  must  pay  the  price — 'tis  not  hard  to  pay." 


She  looked  at  me,  her  features  glowing  wild 

With  new  born  hope.     "Must  pay  the  price,"  you  say? 

You  know  that  death  for  me  holds  no  alarms, 

— Could  I  but  know  his  love  for  one  brief  breath, 

I'd  gladly  die  next  moment  in  his  arms. 


Dick  Posey 

"But  then,  Niona,  death  is  not  the  price," 

I  answered,  "I  shall  only  ask  that  you 

Think  less  of  him,  a  little  more  of  self. 

Men  are  strange  creatures,  child,  they  often  do 

Love  but  the  more  when  they  are  loved  the  less. 

And  if  a  wife  would  bind  her  husband  by 

The  strongest  ties  to  her,  she  will  not  give 

Her  every  thought  to  him,  nor  will  she  die 

To  prove  her  deep  devotion  and  her  love. 

These  earthly  loves  of  our  not  divine. 

We  think  'tis  love  when  perchance,  'tis  but  pride. 

And,  while  I  have  not  mastered  all  the  fine 

Twists  and  turns  of  human  character,  I 

Have  seen  how  men  appreciate  a  wife 

As  she  appears  to  others.     If  she  dress 

In  taste  most  exquisite,  and  shapes  her  life 

To  social  needs  and  life's  proprieties, 

And  wins  much  admiration — and  some  hate, 

Her  husband  will  compare  her  many  charms 

With  those  of  others,  and  will  often  rate 

His  own  salved  pride  as  the  profoundest  love. 


"I  trust  you  know  me  well  enough  to  feel 
I  would  not  stoop  to  idle  flattery, 
So,  to  your  sober  judgment  I  appeal. 
Your  charms  of  form  and  feature  are  above 
Those  of  the  average  woman;  your  carriage 
Is  natural  and  full  of  unspoiled  grace, 
While  you  have  much  advantage  in  your  age; 
Your  hair  is  amplo  for  the  dressers'  art, 
And  you  have  wit  and  buoyancy  of  mind, 
And  you  are  glowing  with  abundant  heUth. 


Dick  Posey 


Now,  given  opportunity,  I  think  you'd  find 

A  way  to  master  the  small  intricacies 

Of  fashion  and  society's  demands. 

And  then  your  ample  bank  account  would  win 

You  envied  rank  where  nobler  arts  would  fail, 

So  listen  to  me,  child,  'tis  this  I  mean; 

That  you  and  Philip  should  forsake  these  wilds 

And  travel  among  strangers  for  a  while. 

And  you  should  study  people  and  their  ways, 

Their  modes  of  dress,  and  each  eccentric  style, 

And  all  their  little  courtesies,   and  try 

To  school  yourself  in  all,  so  that  you  may 

Mingle  with  Philip's  kind  and  be  at  ease. 

I  trust  to  your  good  sense  to  find  your  way 

Among  them,  and  to  your  true  modesty 

And  womanly  virtue  to  profit  much, 

And  yet  retain  your  honest  self  esteem. 

I  know  that  Philip  loves  you,  and  that  such 

Love  as  his,  when  it  does  appreciate 

You,  and  comparison  reveals  to  all 

Your  own  true  self,  your  unaffected  charms, 

The  scales  from  his  blind  eyes  will  one  day  fall. 


"I  know  the  one  who,  for  so  many  years, 

Has  held  his  heart  within  her  jeweled  hand. 

I  will  not  talk  of  her,  but  this  I  feel; 

If  it  but  chanced  that  some  day  you  should  stand 

Beside  her,  after  you  had  learned  the  ways 

Of  her  own  kind,  and  you  were  richly  clad 

In  all  the  latest  follies  of  the  day, 

Her  puny  beauty  would  look  pale  and  sad 

Beside  you.     You  are  fairer,  far,  than  she. 


Dick  Posey 

And  should  you  mingle  in  the  busy  throng, 
But  very  few  would  even  note  a  trace 
Of  Indian  blood  within  you,  and  so  long 
As  wealth  and  beauty  are  your  portion  here, 
'Twould  add  but  romance  to  your  many  charms. 


"Now  as  to  Philip,  it  is  for  his  good. 
You  practice  no  deceit,  but  simply  bring 
The  worth  of  your  true  self  within  his  view. 
I  know  him  well,  bis  life  is  pure  and  clean, 
And  when  his  love  comes  full  and  complete  to  you. 
'Twill  ever  there  abide  till  death  shall  come. 
And  do  not  once  forget,  your  are  his  wife 
And  he  your  husband,  and  your  duty  stands 
To  him,  to  drive  a  false  love  from  his  life 
And  claim  the  heart  which  he  will  gladly  give, 
And  which  is  yours  in  honor  and  in  right. 
I  am  your  friend,  and  also  Philip's  friend; 
I  do  not  urge  you  thus  in  thoughtless,  light, 
Unripe  words,  but  with  all  the  keenest  sense 
Of  my  derotion  to  you  both,  my  friend." 


Long  did  we  talk,  weighing  the  matter  well 
In  all  its  subtle  points,  and  in  the  end 
She  promised,  if  Philip  but  deemed  it  best. 
And  we  did  pledge  to  each  that  we  would  keep 
The  secret  'tween  us  till  our  dying  day. 


Dick  Postvv 


That  night  I  talked  with  Philip  in  the  deep 

Quiet  of  our  mountain  camp,  urging  him 

To  do  his  duty  by  Niona,  to 

Remove  her  from  the  land  where  she  had  known 

So  much  of  pain,  where  joy  was  but  her  due. 

That  she  should  have  her  chance  to  win  a  way 

Among  her  father's  people,  and  to  see 

The  world  and  try  to  make  its  ways  her  own. 

And  'twas  not  long  before  I  knew  that  he 

Did  see  his  duty  to  her,  and  his  high 

Sense  of  honor  did  make  his  duty  clear, 

And  he  consented,  if  it  were  her  will. 


I  tarried  but  a  few  days  longer  there, 

Then,  with  regret,  I  bade  my  friends  farewell. 

I  will  not  weary  you  in  labored  words 

With  all  the  details  of  my  journeyings 

Through  lands  whose  mystic  history  affords 

Substance  for  volumes  weightier  than  this. 

I  threaded  far  into  the  somber  shade 

Of  redwood  forests,  wondrous  to  behold; 

I  climbed  old  Shasta's  slopes  and  proudly  made 

My  camp  fire  high  in  never  melting  snow; 

I  spent  some  weeks  in  grand  Yosemite, 

Drinking  its  marvels  with  a  greedly  thirst; 

I  dropped  into  the  valleys  but  to  see 

Marvels  of  soil  and  wealth  of  spreading  plain, 

While  verywhere  was  rioting  of  flowers, 

Fruits  adrip  with  luscious  sweetness,  gay  birds, 

Shrieking  their  gladness  to  me, — golden  hours, 

'Neath  radient  sky  of  endless  summer! 

I  often  pitched  my  camp  with  brawny  men 


Dick  Posey 

Bearded  and  massive  in  efficient  power, 
Pitting  their  strength  against  the  great  day,  when 
Their  eyes  would  see  the  yellow,  gleaming  hoard 
Within  the  palm  of  Fortune's  outstretched  hand. 
And  I  have  answered  to  the  magic  spell 
With  pick  and  shovel  in  the  tempting  sand, 
And  I've  e'en  felt  the  reeling,  drunken  joy 
Of  glowing  nuggets  in  my  itching  palm. 


I  stood  one  eve  and  watched  the  blood  red  sun, 
Robed  in  fleecy  vapor  trappings,  and  calm, 
Sink  to  repose  beyond  the  Golden  Gate. 
I'll  ne'er  forget  the  scene.     It  seemed  that  God 
Stood  at  the  portals  of  a  continent, 
Watching  the  path  that  few  as  yet  had  trod, 
With  hand  most  provident  to  wayward  man, 
Spread  open  and  palm  downward  o'er  the  land, 
From  which  had  dropped  his  richest  earthly  gifts, 
— Ah,  why  will  men  forget  to  bless  that  Hand? 


Two  glorious  years  passed  by  and  one  day  found 

Me  seated  in  my  club  in  calm  content. 

I  found  it  good  to  tread  the  beaten  paths 

Of  old  familiar  ways,  where  I  had  spent 

My  youth  and  early  manhood,  and  to  clasp 

The  hand  of  half  forgotten  college  maio 

And  know  that  I  was  only  half  forgot. 

I  spent  much  time  in  pondering  of  late 

O'er  Philip  and  Niona,  conjuring  up 

The  many  scenes  through  which  we  three  had  passed, 


Dick  Posey 


Wondering  how  wayward  Fate  had  dealt  with  them, 

And  whether  they  had  heeded  me  at  last. 

I  smiled  to  think  that  I,  a  bachelor, 

Should  turn  match-maker  between  man  and  wife, 

Stepping  boldly  "Where  angels  feared  to  tread," 

— I,  with  ne'er  a  romance  in  my  life. 


As  I  thus  mused  alone,  a  messenger 
Placed  a  dainty  note  within  my  hand, 
And  thus  it  read: 

"To  my  dear  old  friend,  Jack: 
Just  read  of  the  wanderer's  return,  and, 
Fearing  lest  you  might  flit  away  again, 
I  hasten  to  forestall  you  in  the  act. 
I  thus  command  that  you  forthwith  forsake 
Your  musings,  and  your  presence  I  exact 
This  very  night.     A  few  congenial  friends 
Will  congregate  beneath  my  humble  roof 
To  hold  high  jinks.     My  lord  and  master  lends 
His  voice  in  this  request,  vowing  that  he 
Gladly  forgives  those  school  day  tragedies 
That  you  and  I  enacted  long  ago. 
And  by  the  by,  I  know  that  it  will  please 
You  much  to  learn  that  our  old  mutual  friend 
And  pal,  Philip,  will  be  here,  big  as  life. 
And  O,  Jack,  listen  now,  and  hold  your  breath; 
He's  found  a  wondrous  creature  for  a  wife! 
— Picked  her  up  somewhere  out  in  the  great  West, 
And  she's  bewildering  the  hearts  of  men 
Tn  giddy  old  New  York.     Perhaps  'twere  best 
Not  to  expose  you  to  her  dazzling  charms, 
Lest  she  inscribe  you  on  her  length'ning  scroll 


Dick  Posey 

Of  conquests, — but  you'll  know  that  she's  Phil's  wife, 
— And  may  the  Lord  have  mercy  on  your  soul! 
Will  look  for  you  promptly  at  nine. 

Irene." 


With  fevered  haste  I  leaped  into  a  cab 

And  rushed  to  my  apartments.     Such  a  scene 

Had  ne'er  before  disturbed  the  stately  calm 

Of  poor  old  Sam.     I  ordered  him  about 

With  lordly  tyranny  and  tempting  bribes, 

And  in  a  moment  we  were  tumbling  out 

Relics  of  by-gone  times  when  I  had  donned 

The  gay  accoutrements  of  beau  ideal, 

Nor  recked  their  ancient  cut  and  moth  ball  see  f 

While  in  anticipation  I  did  feel 

The  wine  of  social  contact  in  each  vein. 


Promptly  at  nine  Irene's  smile   greeted   me, 

In  cordial  welcome  to  her  home.     Her  reign 

In  social  realms  was  undisputed,  and 

"Flower  of  beauty  and  chivalry  were  there." 

I  readily  gained  her  consent  to  seek 

Concealment  behind  a  flowery  screen  where 

I  could  see  and  seeing,  not  be  observed. 

The  form  and  face  of  some  familiar  friend 

Greeted  my  eyes  where  e'er  I  bent  my  gaze, 

And  it  was  good  to  feel  my  stirred  heart  send 

A  glow  of  friendly  warmth  through  nerve  and  brain, 

While  Memory  unrolled  with  lightning  hand 

Her  scroll,  leading  me  back  to  earlier  scenes  again. 


Dick  Posey 


There  Philip  stood  in  his  gigantic  strength 

And  manly  vigor,  prince  among  his  kind, 

Greeting  his  old  time  friends  with  firm  hand  claip 

And  cordial  courtesy.     'Twas  good  to  find 

Him  in  my  eyes,  and  to  discern  that  he 

Was  mingling  with  his  friends  in  glad  content. 

I  saw  him  pause  and  bend  above  the  chair 

Of  her  who  once  had  ruled  his  heart,  and  sent 

Him  from  her  life  with  scare  a  thought  or  care. 

And  closely  did  I  watch  for  trace  of  pain 

Upon  his  features,  but  he  stood  at  ease, 

Giving  courteous  heed  to  some  inane 

Speech  springing  from  the  shallowness  of  her. 

And  then  I  saw  him  straighten,  and  his  eyes 

Turn  from  her  and,  watching,  I  saw  his  face 

Soften  and  glow  as  if  in  glad  surprise, 

And  following  his  gaze,  I  there  beheld 

Niona.     She  had  but  caught  Philip's  smile 

And  look  of  adoration,  big  with  pride, 

And  gladly  did  her  sweet  soul  answer,  while, 

Making  excuse  to  those  around,  she  arose 

And  moved  toward  her  husband. 


She  wore  the  grace 

Of  stately  pines  bowing  to  gentle  kiss 
Of  summer  breeze,  while  stamped  upon  her  face 
Was  the  enraptured  look  I  oft  did  note 
The  while  she  gazed  upon  some  master  scene 
Of  God's  own  handiwork.     I  caught  my  breath 
In  admiration  of  her.     In  fancy  e'en 
I  saw  her  back  among  the  hills  and  vales 
Of  th«  gwaet  Valley  of  the  Rogue,  where  they 


Dick  Poaey 

Had  sunk  their  bigness  deep  within  her  soul. 
And  now  her  glorious  form  in  rich  array 
Was  very  pleasing  to  the  eyes  of  men. 
Her  rounded  bosom,  answering  to  the  sway 
Of  deep  emotions,  lifted  its  weight  of  pearlg 
Gleaming  in  tangled  rays  of  fires  within, 
Her  eyes,  bright  as  the  stars  of  western  night, 
— And  my  glad  heart  breathing  her  beauty  in. 


She  turned  her  face  direct  toward  my  retreat, 

And  e'en  as  if  in  answer  to  her  call, 

I  went  to  her.     At  first  she  stood  transfixed 

In  wonder  at  my  presence,  and  then  all 

That  we  had  been  to  each  swept  over  us 

And  I  did  take  hor  outstretched  hands  in  mine. 

"My  more  than  friend,"  she  breathed,  "I'm  happy,  Jack. 

I  saw  her  lips  a-tremble  and  a  tear  did  shine 

Upon  her  lashes,  and  then  dear  old  Phil 

Descended  swift  upon  me,  and  we  three 

Forgot  all  else  around  us  for  a  spell. 

— Then  others  came  and  struck  glad  hands  with  me, 

And  happily  the  evening  hours   passed  by. 


Philip  and  I  were  standing  side  by  side 

When  I  did  note  that,  all  unconsciously, 

Niona  stood  beside  that  other  one. 

I  could  but  smile  that  my  poor  dream  should  b« 

Thus  fully  realized.     The  swift  intake 

Of  Philip's  breath  did  clearly  prove  to  me 

That  he  beheld  the  contrast  'tween  the  two. 

"Look,"  he  whispered,  "never  before  hare  I 


Dick  Posey 


Seen  earthly  beauty  that  will  equal  her. 
And,  friend  of  mine,  there  is  no  need  to  try 
To  tell  you  of  a  husband's  love  and  pride 
In  such  a  woman  as  Niona  there." 

"And  how  about  the  one  beside  her,  Phil? 
Time  was  when  I  suspected  you  might  care .  , 


— "Blind  was  I,  Jack,  stone  blind  and  deaf  and  dumb! 

When  Heaven's  gates  stood  open  wide  for  me, 

I  saw  them  not;   and  when  the  angels  sang 

And  beckoned  me  to  enter  and  be  free, 

I  heard  them  not.     'Tis  true — I  know  not  why." 

I  felt  my  friend's  big  hand  within  my  arm 

And  read  his  cordial  meaning  in  his  eye; 

"Come,  Jack,  I  want  you  to  myself  awhile." 

He  drew  me  out  and  up  a  winding  stair 

Into  a  dim  lit  chamber.     With  a  smile 

He  led  me  to  a  canopied  retreat, 

And  there  in  silken  nest  a  baby  lay, 

Sweet  as  an  angel  in  his  innocence. 

I  looked  in  Philip's  face  and  knew  that  they, 

Husband  and  wife  were  bound  eternally, 

Not  only  by  their  honor  and  their  love, 

But  that  the  fingers  of  their  first  born  held 

Their  spirits,  "Twain  as  one."     I  heard  a  sob, 

And  there  Niona  stood,  and  I  did  see 

A.  tear  drop  on  her  snowy  bosom  fall, 

That  paled  the  radiance  of  the  Jewels  there, 

And  peace  cams  down  and  sweetly  dwelt  with  all. 

THE  END. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


•m  L9-100m-9,'52(A3105)444 


JPS 

3505 
Cl555d 


Campbell  - 
A  daughter  of 
the  Rogues 


A  000  925  847  6 


PS 

3505 
C1555d 


